


Yield (The Collagen Incident)

by arnediadglanduath



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Essentially a Food Fight, Everything went wrong here that needed to go wrong, I'm totally not selling you anything with this, Jello and Lettuce, M/M, Not really romantic but it gets there, The author needed a break, pretty much crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 08:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arnediadglanduath/pseuds/arnediadglanduath
Summary: Basically, they hate each other. A lot.





	Yield (The Collagen Incident)

“You eating that?”

Sephiroth blinked, and blinked again. Putting down his fork he opened his mouth, closed it once more, and squinted extremely hard.

Because all relevant indicators were suggesting that Genesis Rhapsodos was talking to him. Genesis Rhapsodos; who had just last week threatened to push him into a reactor, and who two weeks before that had suggested that perhaps someday he'd get trampled by a herd of chocobos and the world would be a better place. 

They fought constantly. 

Really, _'fighting’_ was not a thorough enough word for it. Genesis and Sephiroth declared war upon each other on a weekly to bi-weekly basis. And maybe _'war’_ was too nice a word as well, because at least in war the opposing sides had tacticians. There was no way, shape, or form tactics had any place in what they did. Because Sephiroth was just as likely to trip Genesis in the middle of an empty hallway as he was to block a downward swing from his sword in the sparring room. Likewise, the redhead was equally as susceptible to pulling the General's hair in the middle of a debriefing as he was when they were three-hundred feet off the ground in the VR room trying to gut each other. 

Genesis and Sephiroth did not have casual conversations. No, they had shouting matches; which generally involved the Commander hollering at the top of his lungs about how arrogant and ugly the silver-haired man was while the younger man made quiet but equally impassioned comments questioning the redhead's intelligence. Angeal had given up on both of them perhaps a year ago; Sephiroth wasn't entirely sure if this was due to 'The Potato Incident’ or 'The Hair Incident.’ Both-in all fairness-could have been avoided if either of them had an ounce of restraint when it came to tolerating any form of offense from the other. 

But Genesis was not going to allow Sephiroth to stuff his rucksack with mashed potatoes while he was out philandering at some seedy hole-in-the-wall the evening before a mission, and Sephiroth was not going to allow Genesis to temporarily dye his hair pink and purple. As far as the green-eyed FIRST was concerned that was asking too much of either of them. And maybe it was Angeal who had unwittingly stepped into the General's apartment when it was filled floor to ceiling with spuds, necessitating a three-hour long retrieval mission. And maybe it was Angeal who had gotten a partial fade from Sephiroth while he lay in wait for his scarlet-haired adversary in the Commander's office, clutching an electric razor. As far as the General was concerned, he was necessary collateral damage.

Because he and Genesis Rhapsodos were mortal enemies.

They had been since the week after they’d set eyes upon each other. Since the day Genesis had broken rank as a cadet during a drill and told him to 'go home, put on a dress, and start acting like a proper woman.’ Since the day Sephiroth had thrown him across the training yard and nearly beaten him senseless into the concrete. Since sixteen fully-decorated SECONDS had had to pull them apart and subsequently drag the redhead to the infirmary while he shrieked that Sephiroth _'hit like a girl.’_

Administration chalked everything up to youth.

Which was a nice way of saying two lethal, hot-headed teenagers were not dispensable because they killed everything they were supposed to. If they had to rip each other pieces in order to get it done, it didn’t matter...because they got it done. Lazard was probably the only one who even remotely cared about what they were doing in their free time, and while he could feasibly place them on separate missions he could not place them on separate levels of HQ. Because Genesis was just as likely to firaga through the floors to get to his target, and if Sephiroth was angry enough he was perfectly capable of bringing the entire building down on top of everyone if he couldn’t get to the redhead fast enough.

If he felt like rationalizing it, he could safely categorize their rapport under ‘extreme boredom.’ You could not put a bunch of insanely powerful men in a building and expect them not to go absolutely crazy. There was also the facet of company paperwork, whose amount would have been enough to terrify a Marlboro into jumping off a cliff. Since neither he nor Genesis were suicidal, fighting each other was their only outlet into some semblance of normality. A therapist would probably say that this was a clear indicator of mental illness, but they’d had four assigned therapists quit since the redhead’s initiation into the SOLDIER program. And so, as the Commander would say; _’no one was touching that shit.’_

And now the aforementioned man was standing across from him in the cafeteria eyeing his jello. 

If Sephiroth were entirely honest with himself, he didn't want it. Jello did strange things to his stomach and the oddly powerful smell it emitted was entirely unappetizing. He had never liked it and probably never would. However, he was entirely unwilling to let _Genesis_ have his jello...because Genesis would enjoy it, and he was absolutely not going to be privy to anything that brought the redhead pleasure. Still...Lazard had lectured him for one hour, thirty-five minutes and twelve seconds regarding the setbacks and costs their 'exchanges’ had in the VR room. The word 'mandatory vacation’ was thrown about and he didn't particularly want to push his luck.

“Gaia” the redhead groaned. “You'd think I asked you about quantum physics.”

Maybe he _did_ want to push his luck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Angeal was watching them, presumably from where the Commander had left him to demand the silver-haired man's dessert. Whatever he saw was enough to make him shake his head, stand, and leave the cafeteria. The Puppy seemed indecisive for a moment; quivering in his chair like an entirely-to-happy electric charge before following after his mentor like a deranged, joyous magnet. A few others left as well; SOLDIERs with considerably more brains and a janitor who had cleaned up after them too many times to not know the signs. 

Red leather-clad fingers drew him back to the issue at hand; snapping under his nose like impatient drumsticks. Sephiroth slapped them away, a warm, familiar sort of indignation filling his belly as he reached for the jello, ripped the lid open and ate his way to the bottom like a man possessed. He had the immense pleasure of watching outraged blue eyes grow larger and more outraged every time he took a bite. Once finished, he set the plastic container down on the table top, carefully pushing it to the side before folding his hands and lifting an eyebrow. 

“Yes” he said calmly. “I paid for it.”

The cafeteria was empty at this point, save for them and a particularly fearsome kitchen chef with nine inch nails and skin like a sailor. It seemed, however, that even she knew her limits of tolerance, because she disappeared into the back room moments later. This was probably lucky; because when Genesis threw Sephiroth's lunch tray it landed exactly where she'd been standing and made a dent in the linoleum. Watching as it flew through the air, Sephiroth smirked...because he would be happy to eat as much jello as the next person if it meant that the Commander didn’t get what he wanted. As spoiled as he’d apparently been as a child, his fellow first had absolutely no qualms about being the exact opposite of what an upbringing in riches and etiquette should have provided. 

Most of the time, they didn’t fight in public. Not because they didn’t want to, but because the Brass usually wasn’t circumspect when it came to discipline. Genesis had been somewhere icy and snowy for perhaps three weeks, and while the frigid temperatures had certainly rid him of whatever semblance of a tan he had-if he’d ever had one-it had not cooled his fiery temper in the least. Sephiroth was quietly appreciative of this as the table in front of him burst into flames. And-really-it had been a long time since he’d been able to truly let loose. Angeal was far too polite when it came to sparring. Rising, the silver-haired First meticulously brushed some residual soot off his vambraces before drawing his sword, raising an eyebrow as he did so. 

“Miss me?” he purred...settling into a ‘guard’ stance.

There was something glorious about watching Genesis’ face turn as red as his hair. 

It crept up the column of his neck like the spill of fine wine before rising to encompass his cheeks...making its final passage up his forehead and encompassing his ears. This time, there was something else there too, something else in those blue eyes that wasn’t entirely synonymous with the rest of their fights; something viciously bitter yet somehow completely delicious. The General didn’t dwell on it. Didn’t particularly want to considering that some part of him answered to it in a manner that wasn’t very wholesome. Appetizing, maybe. But not wholesome. 

“Dream on, princess” the older man drawled. 

Well. That was enough.

Satisfying. It was satisfying to watch that riot of scarlet and black go flying back into the salad bar. And while the resounding **_*crash*_** didn’t do particularly pleasant things to his eardrums, it was delightful to observe his adversary covered in lettuce. This was short-lived. Rapier made a quick comeback, and while Sephiroth knew it was more the individual behind the weapon that was possessive of such levels of skill, he wasn’t exactly partial to think of it that way. Not when he barely missed a particularly intricate sideswipe that was swiftly followed by a spectacular firaga that blew up the entirety of the row of chairs behind him, including the one he’d been sitting on. From there on, it was a dance; parry, strike, block...and Genesis was grinning a riotous grin that he only saw in the most virulent of their spars. Masamune was a silver arc and the clang of metal against metal was music to his ears. 

Because _this_ was where he felt most alive. Not in the labs getting prodded and poked at by a maddened scientist with questionable glasses, not on the field slaying his enemies, and not in the President’s office listening to him drone on about future conquests. No, it was here, in close proximity with a sea of leather and scarlet and the blue of ocean-colored irises. Here, where there was no difference between friend and foe...where sweat and salt combined to charge the atmosphere between them in an electric, shuddering current that was stronger than the most powerful of thunderstorms. 

And it didn’t particularly matter that Genesis was trailing lettuce wherever he went, it was the singular fact that he could make lettuce look like a fashion statement. So Sephiroth didn’t particularly mind when the redhead pushed him into the dessert trolley and covered them both with copious amounts of assorted jello. It didn’t matter because he absolutely hated him, and there was nothing that was going to change that. The fact that they were both going to have to pay for this out of their pockets was dismissable, because both of their stipends were ridiculously high and neither of them were going to regret it. 

There was another resounding, cacophonous shattering sound as Rapier tore through the electrical wiring powering the ceiling lights. Something groaned and the overhead bulbs began to flicker ominously as glass rained down onto the floor like smithereens of crystalline, lethal snow; catching the sunlight flooding in from the viewing windows and spilling onto the tile until the scene before them appeared to glitter. Sephiroth lunged forward, twisting his blade in a complicated upward thrust, watching with narrowed eyes as his adversary jumped to the side and then smirked; raising his free hand and curling the fingers inward against the translucent sphere housed in his palm. The silver-haired man had perhaps five seconds to flip a table before the materia in question caused it to concave violently. Instead of feeling threatened, he felt thrilled; Genesis was definitely trying to kill him.

_Wonderful._

Throwing what remained of his shield to the side, the younger man ducked to avoid getting decapitated and rolled to the left into what appeared to be cranberry juice. It was immediately soaked up by his hair and the indignance he felt at the fact that he was going to have to shower three times a day for a month to get it out was lessened by the fact that at least this time it wasn’t pink. Recovering himself, Sephiroth returned to the more prominent issue at hand. 

“Red looks good on you” Genesis commented as he twisted to avoid Masamune. “Takes away from the pastiness.” 

And-whatever-the jibes were what most people would consider juvenile. The General couldn’t think of anyone else in his life who had ever called him ‘pasty.’ This paled in comparison to him likening Genesis to a tube of lipstick-which had earned him a black eye-but in the heat of their many moments neither of them were going for anything particularly personal. Or clever. That usually came later, when both of them were too tired to fight and simply threw insults at each other from across the room. 

“Rich” the green-eyed first grunted as he parried an angled sideswipe. “Coming from a pretentious ghost.” 

A not-entirely stable laugh was his response, and he was forced to flatten himself against the wall to avoid the fira that followed his statement.

“Ho _ney_ , you’re going to have to do better than that” the Commander murmured when the smoke had cleared, dropping into a crouch. He tilted his head to the side. “Are those new boots? They’re ugly.” 

Something-Sephiroth assumed it was a pressure cooker-exploded as they briefly circumvented the cafeteria to bowl into the kitchen. Their general locale was short-lived, as it was hard to swing a sword in a space packed to the brim with appliances generally reserved for preparing food. Genesis did make use of the knives, though they fell far short of him; slamming into the opposing wall and quivering as if brought to life and then subsequently brought to complete and utter terror by the scene unfolding before them. Vaulting over the counter, the silver-haired soldier knocked over a barrel of packaged rations in order to give himself time to figure out a new angle of attack.

This didn’t work, as Genesis circumvented his trap; crashing square into his back and throwing them both into the jello again. 

“They’re not new” Sephiroth snarled, spitting hair and jello out of his mouth and twisting to kick the redhead in the shins. “ _You_ need to do better.” His-admittedly-dimwitted tactic didn’t work, as it only served to make the older man press him further into the mess they’d created. “Get off” he spat. “You’re…” he searched around for an impactful statement-grabbed the most insulting one he could think of at the time-and opened his mouth. “Fat. You’re fat.” 

The sound of Genesis’ teeth slamming together was obscenely loud.

As the ceiling traversed his peripheral vision, the silver-haired first made a note that insulting the redhead’s physicality was a guaranteed way to get a rise out of him. Because he’d forgotten that the blue-eyed soldier was was incomprehensibly vain. How such information had escaped him so far he didn’t know, but being thrown across the room was absolutely worth it. As he twisted to land effortlessly on his feet, he filed his findings away for another time; when he didn’t obviously have the higher emotional ground. Refocusing, he brought Masamune up just in time to counter a series of impossibly fast and complicated strikes.

Regaining the offensive, he was greeted with the sight of a gelatin-covered Commander with his mouth twisted into a snarl. Having been the one on the receiving end of the previous impact, Sephiroth imagined that he didn’t look much better. When their blades connected again, they slid forward until they were locked together. 

_”Take it back”_ the redhead hissed, his eyes burning. 

Raising a lazy brow, the younger man smirked. 

“No.”

For a moment, it seemed as if his adversary might explode. Then, worryingly, a different look passed over Genesis’ visage...something secret, insecure, and yet somehow deceptive. For the barest hint of a second their swords remained locked together. Then Sephiroth stumbled as Rapier was yanked away, as he was forced to pull Masamune back to prevent himself from running the redhead through. And then he was pulled forward into a hard, _hot_ kiss. 

Obviously, he hadn’t thought this through. 

Sephiroth hadn’t kissed a multitude of people. Maybe a girl here and there when he couldn’t avoid going on a date for the sake of PR, but he’d never been kissed like this. And this really wasn’t fighting _fair_ , he thought distractedly as his opponent mouthed softly at his lower lip. Because Genesis had kissed a _lot_ of people, and he had far more experience than him in this particular area of human interaction. His body-however-didn’t seem to care about that. His body only seemed to care about the fact that the tongue tracing the seam of his lips was hot and welcome and entirely _wonderful_. More wonderful than swinging a sword or figuratively chopping Genesis up into tiny bits. And-because the silver-haired soldier evidently had no say in what his body did-he kissed the redhead back.

_Oh._

Warm, his mouth was so warm. Sephiroth felt his lids close to half-mast as he tentatively explored the contour of smooth...moist… _yes_. Genesis seemed to hearken to it...to respond in kind as their weapons were slowly lowered until Masamune clattered against the linoleum so the green-eyed first could thread black leather-clad hands through slightly slippery scarlet locks. The older man made a soft sound, not-unlike appreciation as he did so, and something in him thrilled to his obvious enjoyment. Deeper, harder and Genesis tongue’ was a wet, heady invasion against his own. A dance; like the intricate steps of a spar but charged with something deeper and far more alluring. Nipping, flicking, sucking and the gasp that rolled over the back of Sephiroth’s throat was strangled and swallowed as he gave a full-body shudder.

Sephiroth knew about physicality, about how response garnered response and the ways in which anatomy and physiology worked together to form a mating drive. And while Genesis was undeniably male he was also undeniably attractive. So he didn’t think about it, didn’t question it when the body he normally fought with pressed him against a wall until he could feel every hard, solid line against his own. Didn’t think about it when the lithe hips that were so nimble in the midst of their battles thrust against his, thrust against the burgeoning bulge in his leathers until stars burst in front of his eyes. Didn’t think when that wicked, insulting mouth left his to suck at the base of his throat until it felt like the entirety of his essence was being drawn out through the epidermis over his jugular. 

In retrospect, it was all too good to be true.

His eyes widened somewhat when the toe of a scarlet boot hooked around the back of his heel, but he didn’t have time to pull away. As Genesis kicked his feet out from under him he could only fall with it as he’d been taught, but that didn’t make the redhead’s victory any less. Nor did it make it any less obvious that Rapier was nicking a bright, bloody line in the base of his neck as triumphant blue eyes stared at him over flushed cheeks. Inwardly, the silver-haired man groaned. The Commander smiled, and it was a _gentle_ smile, something wholly different from the ones he usually received. It was careful, almost tender in the way it spread across handsome, proud features. And when the older man leaned down to drive his point home, he could only exhale shakily.

“Yield” he murmured.

Lying on the floor, covered in jello and impossibly aroused, Sephiroth raised his hands.

“I yield.”   
That smile widened, Rapier dug in just a bit more…-and then, in a flash of scarlet and black and a swish of designer leather-Genesis was gone. 

Sephiroth said something reprehensible to the ceiling. It didn’t answer him.

His hair was red for perhaps a month and green for yet another. He kept a small strip of the red layered under yards of silver. Not because he was particularly fond of it, but because it was the singular and only time someone had ever beaten him. Whenever Genesis caught sight of it, he would turn away, but not before Sephiroth could see him smile. Angeal was exhaustedly happy, and told both of them so on more than one occasion. He seemed to be trying to start something between them, but neither of them were ready. They still fought; violently, passionately, happily...but never to the degree that they did before. 

The day before the first snowfall of the next year, Sephiroth opened the door to find a cup of jello sitting next to an envelope. Bending down and opening it proved it to be an invitation to a concert performed by a rather famous conductor on the outskirts of the Upper Plate. Attached to the back of the letter was a plastic spoon. And despite the fact that he _hated_ jello, the General took it back into his apartment and ate it for breakfast. He attended the concert, because really, it was the only thing he could do. And when he arrived in the amphitheatre dressed in a formal suit and tie, Genesis turned, his eyes widened...and the smile that spread across his face was both affectionate and appreciative. He offered his arm, but it seemed automatic, as if he’d done it involuntarily. Sephiroth stared for a moment before lifting his gaze, his lips curving upwards.

“...Yield?” he purred. 

For a moment, the Commander could only look somewhat stunned. And then he threw back his head and laughed. When he recovered himself, he lowered his arm and gestured for both of them to take their seats together...but not before answering his question. Catching the still-red lock of Sephiroth’s hair between his fingers, Genesis brought it to his lips and and winked.

“I yield.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** If I have your attention, please check out 'Burn', by DarkSilverSilhouette! We have been working on it very hard over the last few weeks and it has truly been a privilege to work with them! 
> 
> As for this,,,this is just me and my chronic insanity, 
> 
> Thanks for reading though!


End file.
